


Migraines

by cowboykylux



Series: If The Creek Don't Rise [38]
Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Soft Clyde Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: When Clyde comes home late one night after a shift at the bar, he finds you stuck with a headache somethin' fierce. He takes some time to comfort and soothe you until you're feeling better.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Series: If The Creek Don't Rise [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/927228
Kudos: 18





	Migraines

He nearly comes stumblin’ into the damn bedroom when he gets home from work that night. Normally you’re waitin’ up for him in bed, the little lamp on the side table turned on and the tv on low, normally you’ve got a big smile and maybe a kiss or two at the ready, arms openin’ up for him after a long day of standing on his feet behind the bar.

But tonight it’s dark, and he gets a mild spike of panic – has something happened? Were you okay?

“Darlin’?” He whispers, feelin’ around the covers for the lump of your body, and when his hand nudges your ankle and you let out a long groan, he sits on the mattress fully and roots around tryin’ to find your pretty face as he asks, “What’cha doin’ here in the dark?”

You moan and groan and he frowns, worried about you, always worried.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” You complain as he reaches for the little lamp, “I’ve got such a bad headache.”

Ah, he thinks to himself with a sad hum, hatin’ to see you feelin’ bad, that explains it. His hand abandons the lamp and returns to rubbing soothing passes back and forth across your thigh as he toes his boots off. You’re sighing happily from the comforting contact, and he stands up just long enough to tug off his clothes which no doubt smell like liquor and cigarette smoke.

“This one of them migraines you were talkin’ about?” He whispers, not wantin’ to be too damn loud or nothin’, not wantin’ to make you feel worse.

“Yeah.” You whine, the saddest damn sound he’s ever heard, so much so that it breaks his heart and he just has to be right next to ya, he just has to be.

“Scooch over.” He announces once he’s stripped down to his underwear, “I’m comin’ in.”

He rounds the mattress and climbs in on his side, lifts the covers over his waist and collects you into his arms without any hesitation.

“Clyde honey no, you gotta go relax. I’ve left some beers in the fridge for you from the cooler.” You say even as you cling to him, even as you go tuckin’ your head up under his chin, burying your face in the warmth of his neck.

He knows he should shower, and he will in a minute. He’ll get up and bring you some Aspirin because he’s sure you ain’t had any all day while he’s at it. But for now, you’re shufflin’ as close as you can get to him, lettin’ yourself be wrapped up even as you groan.

“Why would I wanna be anywhere other than where you are?” Clyde asks genuinely, sincerely, kissin’ the top of your head, pettin’ your hair back.

“Because I’m no fun right now.” You whine, feelin’ like pure garbage, but Clyde only hums in that way that has you chucklin’ because you can feel the vibration of his baritone through his chest and into yours.

“Oh sweetheart,” He says real nice and soft as he rubs your back, “You ain’t never no fun.”

“You mean it?” You ask, leaning back enough to meet his eyes in the dark light of just the moon, and he decides to try and get you to smile for him.

“Yep.” He kisses your nose, “Even when you’re all sweaty and smelly and – ”

“Hey!” You chuckle. It’s a weak laugh, but it’s a laugh, and it’s better than a groan or moan or whine, and he’ll take it.

“You ain’t feelin’ too poorly for some kissin’, I hope?” He asks, a smile teasin’ his cheeks as you blush.

“Give me those lips of yours, big bear.” You whisper, cupping his face in your sweaty palms and smoochin’ him right there in bed, under the light of the moon.

He can’t kiss away your headache, but he can damn well try. 

And when it doesn’t really work, well, Aspirin’s only a room away.


End file.
